10 comments:

im sure theres stupider thingz and im sure you have yr own good timez that arent so stupid but, regardless, the signed poster is not in the bedroom but in the room where the tv is - i guess you can call it the tv room - spenser yeh, mike connelly + dominik furnow had groopsex in there. plus the poster in this blog is not the right one

yeh but the shit is toast - since the creator/writer(s) split this season its bunk -- fuck check out the NY Times piece:

TVA Series Changes Horses, and the Ride Gets BumpyBy VIRGINIA HEFFERNANPublished: November 7, 2006Something is wrong with “Gilmore Girls.” Early reports had this cherished tragicomedy series faring just fine on the new CW network without its despotic creator, Amy Sherman-Palladino, and her husband and co-captain, Daniel Palladino. Those reports were false. The couple left their own show last spring after disputes with Warner Brothers over contracts, money, timing, something. And without them the show is not faring well. It’s faring weirdly.

Has “Gilmore Girls” lost heart? If only. This brainy, dexterous show is now all heart — with Lorelai (Lauren Graham) dating Rory’s father, Christopher (David Sutcliffe), and Rory (Alexis Bledel) pining for the London-based Logan (Matt Czuchry). In the new season those emotional cues that used to come from the Sam Phillips score with its airy la-la-la lyrics now emanate from by-the-numbers reaction shots, big doorstep love scenes, vast gaps in the scripts just for feelings, and sincerity galore. As a result, the show that made a virtue of brittleness has become almost moony.

There’s even “I love you” — a sentence that Ms. Sherman-Palladino, who learned timing from her father, a cruise-ship stand-up, and who came of age writing for “Roseanne,” could never abide.

Ms. Sherman-Palladino’s rat-a-tat series used to abhor reaction shots and television silence — those wordless measures, covered with pensive close-ups, that signify emotion on soaps and dramas. Instead, her “Gilmore Girls” had a nervous, competitive tempo: each conversation was a pickup game to be won, not a dance with someone designated to lead.

Casual viewers have typically complained about the show’s stylized dialogue, poseur diction and references seemingly inspired by Bartlett’s and Roget’s. Well, for them, it should all go down easier now. The new show is run by David Rosenthal, a television writer who was famous chiefly for a 2001 morbidly obsessive play about Heidi Klum that Bruce Weber in The New York Times called “not only offensive but also incompetent.” On his “Gilmore Girls,” people lead and follow: one person talks, and the other sighs, frowns or chuckles. The sound mix is especially thick with that chuckling that signals what’s funny. I keep thinking that if Rory and Lorelai, those unsentimental brainiacs, could see this show, they’d hate it.

Ah, but they can see it. They’re right there: or at least some Cylons who look like Rory and Lorelai are there, in Stars Hollow, going through their paces. Ms. Bledel still appears by turns beautiful and loping as Rory, and Ms. Graham is still the show’s power forward, playing as hard as she can, giving all she’s got to proving that a woman’s sensibility can comprise The New Yorker and Us Weekly. A modest goal — but not a toxic one.

And possibly, even, Ms. Graham is relieved that the show has slowed down. There are certainly fewer words to remember and execute. The diction is less eccentric. With the looser, more emotionally direct and less digressive scripts, Ms. Graham may even discover more room to act. On Ms. Sherman-Palladino’s show, the scripts were so packed with dialogue that the actors, even the enterprising Ms. Graham (whose missing Emmy is now just ludicrous), sometimes showed a Mamet-style anxiety, as if it were all they could do just to recite their lines. Ms. Bledel, as Gilmore the younger, almost always came across this way.

Indeed, that was the charm of the old show: women, fundamentally women without men, were compelled to talk as fast as they could to keep their loneliness at bay. The virtue of Ms. Sherman-Palladino’s shticky style was that it created characters who were new to television. In their purest incarnations, Lorelai and Rory shared the witty woman’s challenge: to architect a wall of words so high and so thick that no silence, no stares, no intimations of mortality or even love could penetrate it.

And the more they — and especially Lorelai — did that season after season, and the more she relented only when overcome by real despair (as when she and Rory fought), the more Ms. Sherman-Palladino and Mr. Palladino seemed to have found a way to bring the pain of cleverness to the screen.

Lorelai’s out-of-touchness with her own emotional life — her conviction that to swoon, even once, would be to forfeit her verbal power and thus her reason for being — has only grown more extreme as the show has aged. That process has had an incredible poignancy and even suspense, as when a single friend becomes funnier and more self-aware even as she stifles her need for romantic love.

Lorelai’s internal life — her desperate loneliness (come on, have any of these forgettable guys even come close to matching her?) coupled with her untenable reliance on her daughter as the one true thing in her existence — is clear to longtime viewers. But no one of her fans would really want her to face that suffering, and turn soft. To force some kind of psychological reckoning on her would be sadistic.

Her humor, her style, her neuroses, even her quicksilver physicality were all contrivances that served to shut out existential truths. If she were in therapy, or a character on a show with a dumber audience, maybe she would have to embrace her weakness. But like Elizabeth in Stephen Frears’s movie “The Queen,” Lorelai has a humanity that is perfectly apparent precisely in her unwillingness to betray her stoicism in favor of a therapeutic catharsis.

For all these years, Lorelai in “Gilmore Girls” has been painful and surprising and exciting to watch — a marvelous high-wire act. How cruel that the new writer of the show wants to rub her face in conventionality, strip her of the speed that was her reason for being and transform her into another banal television lead.